Memoirs of A Modern Witch: 1-The Murder on Bourbon Street
by AWriterFromTL
Summary: The first in a series of modern witches' forays into an unknown world, meeting fellow witches and being thrust in the middle of a coming war.
1. Chapter 1

_A few notes:_

_This story takes place in the Universe of American Horror Story: Coven, created by Ryan Murphy. The current supreme is Fiona Goode. The story will obviously not follow the same plotline as that would be rather pointless._

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognised characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infrigment is intended._

_Changes:_

_Miss Robichaux's Academy is a co-ed school._

**Chapter 1**

**Welcome to Robichaux**

_Dedicated to C, without whom I might not have lasted this long._

"_A witch is born out of the true hunger of their time." – Ray Bradbury_

27 January 2012

Tyron Blacc was having a bad day.

Sitting in the principals stuffy office, listening to her rant was not how he wanted to spend his Tuesday afternoon.

"_Never in all my life as a…." _Mrs Coral's nasal voice rang through the air.

The principal was a strange, waspish woman with an extremely tight home perm and a pair of kitten heals that had no doubt seen better days. She sounded like someone who had come down with a particularly severe head cold. One could hardly blame Tyson for not listening.

"… _such blatant disregard for school rules…"_

Perhaps if he continued to stare off into space she would quit her little tirade. The window next to her desk offered a nice view of the quad.

"… _and what's more is the fact that you continue to…"_

He really couldn't see what her problem was. So he had smoked a cigarette on school grounds. So what? It wasn't like anyone had gotten hurt. Perhaps if the classes in this dump had been more challenging he wouldn't have to resort to entertaining himself.

"…_call your mother immediately…"_

That got his attention.

"… since you don't seem to find our punishments threatening enough." She finished, out of breath.

Two weeks of detention he could handle, but he was in no mood to listen to his mother tell him what a waste of space he was.

"I really don't think that's necessary Mrs Coral." He said.

"Oh on the contrary Mr Blacc," she began "that seems to be the only think that works with you."

He just stared at her as she rounded her desk.

"Perhaps you'll actually start listening now." said the principal as she opened a file on her desk.

Panic started to build within him. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his mother. It was already enough for her to take care of two children all by her lonesome. The last thing she needed was this. The last thing _he _needed was this.

Mrs Coral picked up the telephone and started to dial.

He was running out of time. In a moment of sheer desperation he stood from his chair and yelled "No!"

The word had scarcely left his mouth when the curtains next to Mrs Coral's desk suddenly burst into flames.

He stared at the curtain in disbelief. Mrs Coral took a moment too long to react and the flaming curtains tumbled down, setting fire to her desk.

He took this as the opportune moment to hightail it out of her office. He could hear her screeching after him as he went.

He rushed through the hallways, pushing through the throngs of students in an attempt to get out of the school, and didn't even bother apologising when one girl tumbled down next to him, her books scattering across the floor. He had to get out of there.

In a panicked daze he rushed out of the main gates of the school. He could feel his hands shaking as he started to walk home. This was bad. Very bad. Tyron had no idea what just happened, only that it did not bode well.

Even though he had expected his mother to be furious with the events that had transpired at school, it still came as a bit of a shock when she threw a stiletto at him. The shoe in question narrowly missed his head and he resolved to better his dodging skills in the future.

His little escapade in the principal's office had made it into Ohio's evening paper. His mother was less than impressed.

Iva Blacc was not to be taken lightly. Even with her paunchy build, limp brown hair and standing at a mere 5'2, the woman was intimidating. She wasn't the type to forgive trespasses easily and this had made Tyron's childhood less than ideal. Every bad grade, every broken glass, every mistake had percussions that reached further than the norm.

She was by no means abusive or uncaring. Just a bitch. One that had been yelling at him for the better part of an hour.

_Ring_

The sound of a bell rang through the air and his mother went quiet. This turn of events was particularly strange seeing as they didn't have a doorbell.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" his mother asked, "Go get the door."

Tyron walked down the hallway and opened the door with a great sense of trepidation.

On the other side stood one of the strangest women he had ever seen. Her hair was flaming red and her face covered in wrinkles. She wore a flowing coat, silk scarf, act eye glasses and leather gloves. She wouldn't have looked out of place in some avant garde fashion magazine.

"How may I help you?" he asked.

The woman peered at him over her glasses. "Hello, my dear. Are you Tyron Blacc?" her voice was ragged and breathy, like that of someone who had just smoked a packet of cigarettes in an hour.

"Yes…"

"Oh, good. My name is Myrtle Snow; I'm a representative of The Robichaux Academy. May I come in?"

His first instinct was to slam the door shut in her face but he thought better of it when he saw 2 very large men, clad in tuxedos standing by a car that was parked in front of the house.

"Please do." he said with forced civility.

The woman stepped into the house and strode into the living room where his mother was. He was torn between wanting to ask her how she knew the layout of the house and wanting to cuss her out for her presumptuousness.

His mother took one look at the woman and adopted a carefully blank expression. "Hello." She said cautiously.

"Hello Mrs Blacc. My name is Myrtle Snow; I'd like to talk to you about your son's future." said Myrtle.

"His future?" his mother questioned.

"His education." Myrtle said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He could see his mother's annoyance growing.

"He's already enrolled at a High School Mrs Snow."

"_Miss_ Snow," she corrected "and with recent developments you might want to consider other options."

"Recent developments?"

"The fire of course!"

Tyron was getting rather tired of them discussing him while he was standing in the room.

"I don't see how the fire changes anything. The school has agreed not to expel him. Rest assured he shall be punished accordingly but he will graduate at Jensen High." It was obvious that his mother was starting to lose her patience.

"But don't you see? The fire changes everything!" Myrtle exclaimed, "he needs to be with his own kind."

"My kind?" Tyron interrupted.

"Other witches of course."

"Absolutely not!" his mother had seemingly reached breaking point. "I will not let you taint my child's mind. Now kindly leave my house."

"Please calm down Mrs Blacc." Myrtles voice remained serene.

"Don't tell me to calm down! Leave my house before I call the authorities." His mothers face was turning an interesting shade of red. He had learned from experience that one should avoid her in such a situation.

"You'll hardly get anywhere…"

"Is that a threat?"

"No Mrs Blacc, only the truth." Myrtles face turned stoic, "Now, I've accommodated your little tantrum but ultimately it is up to Tyron." She turned and looked at him.

Tyron stared at her, mouth agape. He had never seen anyone speak to his mother that way. It felt strangely satisfying.

"Run that by me again would you?" he asked.

Myrtle sighed. "You, Mr Black, are a witch and I am offering you that chance to learn how to control your abilities. You have great purpose Tyron."

He felt heat rise up in his chest. A sense of relief perhaps. He had spent so long feeling like a waste of space that he had stopped bothering. To hear someone actually encouraging him was something new. Adding that to finding out you're a witch (which he was still reluctant to believe) and you had a whole lot of things to try and wrap your head around. He took a deep breath.

"How do I know you're not lying?" he asked, allowing a small bit of hope to creep into his heart.

Myrtle waved her hand and all the doors and windows in the room promptly started to open and shut in rapid succession, creating a great racket.

"Okay…" he stuttered. The house was still. He looked towards his mother. She had a look of pure hatred on her face.

"Mother..." be began.

"Go." She interrupted.

"But if you'd just…"

"I said leave!" she screamed, "You're just like your useless lump of a father. His head was too busy studying his little talent to take care of his family and look where that got him! I will not this in my house, now leave."

He could feel something break inside of him at the sight of his mother's coldness, but his resolve strengthened. Who needed her anyway.

"Come dear." Myrtle grasped his shoulder tightly and steered him out of the house.

They reached the car and he noticed one of the bodyguards loading his old suitcase into the trunk. Another one opened the door and Myrtle ushered him in.

He had hardly sat down when the car's engine purred to life and they were speeding down the street, away from the only place he had ever called home. He felt the pull of sadness in his gut but dutifully ignored it. There were more important things to do then mourn for friend he never really liked anyway. He only hoped his sister got through this. He made a silent vow to himself to get her out of there.

"How can you be sure I'm a witch?" he asked Myrtle.

She just tapped the side of her glasses and winked at him.

Tyson took one look at the looming white building and felt an inexplicable urge to hit Myrtle as hard as physically possible.

The little ginger had it coming.

The white building in question was Miss Robichaux's Academy for exceptional Youngsters. A conspicuous cover if there ever was one. Honestly, who even went to finishing school anymore?

Nevertheless, this was where Tyson found himself, standing in front of the wrought iron gates of an elite boarding school for witches in training, without any clue as to what he should do.

Being manhandles by little Miss Grace Coddington and her pet albinos wasn't exactly his idea of a good times but, in all honesty, things could have been much worse.

He could hardly believe that only a day ago he had been back home in Ohio, sitting on an uncomfortable chair in the principal's office, worrying about possible suspension and other things that seemed so trivial in comparison to the present.

They had travelled over night by train and in just a few short hours (featuring Myrtle talking in some obscene dialect of what he assumed to be English) later, he had arrived at the famed academy.

Suffice to say the place was a bit classier than Hogwarts.

The enormous house was three stories tall with white walls, black shutters, sprawling gardens and a huge greenhouse to the side. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence and the only thing that indicated that he hadn't accidentally arrived at some rich lady's summer home was a small plack that read "Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Youngsters". Beneath the gate was a slab of stone with the words "From education as the leading cause, the public character it's draws." set in decoupage.

Before he could ogle the building any longer the large gates swung open before him. He turned around to address Myrtle to find nothing but his worn down old suitcase.

The bitch had left him there. So much for "looking after our own".

He picked up his bag, which suddenly seemed much heavier, and set off on the cobble stone path that led up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and heard a chime echo through the house. He was greeted by a balding man in a tux who wouldn't look out of place in an episode of "The Adams Family".

When had his life become a crappy soap opera?

"Uhm, Hello. I'm Tyson Blacc. Myrtle just dropped me off…" He tried not to let my voice betray how nervous he was actually feeling.

The butler just stared straight at him, not saying a word. After an exceedingly awkward silence the unnamed man took his suitcase from the floor besides him and beckoned Tyson to follow him into the house.

Apparently, people didn't like talking down here in New Orleans.

The inside of the house was light and open with tall, blanched walls and Greek inspired pillars. The floor was some dark wood and leading directly from the hall was a magnificent staircase that resembled two wings folding upward.

The man led him down a hallway and stopped in front of one of the numerous closed doors and proceeded to knock promptly.

"Come in." a female voice called from inside.

The man opened the door and pushed Tyson inside.

Inside seemed to be an office. The room had books stacked neatly into many bookcases and in the middle was a large desk, cluttered with an array of stationary. Behind the desk sat a blonde woman with glasses, wearing a kind expression. Tyson immediately felt a bit safer in her presence.

The woman motioned at the empty seat in front of her desk and Tyson sat down. He heard the office door shut gently behind him.

"Hello, my name is Cordelia Foxx. I'm the headmistress of Robichaux academy. Welcome." She said warmly.

"Hi, I'm Tyson. Uhm I'm new here." He stuttered out.

"I noticed." she replied with a wry grin.


	2. Chapter 2 - Meet the Gang

Thanks to The Bitter Kitten for being an amazing Beta.

**Chapter 2**

**Meet the gang**

Tyron silently cursed his voice for wavering. The last thing he needed was to seem weak and awkward in this weird school.

The headmistress merely smiled and began to talk. Her voice was soft, and Tyron found himself comforted. He relaxed into his chair as she told him about the history of the school.

"Robichaux was established as first a premier finishing school and later a safe haven for us witches," she was saying. "Over the years, witches have come here seeking sanctuary and knowledge within these walls. The school has withstood many forms of adversity, and almost always come out the other side victorious."

"Almost?" he questioned.

"When Hurricane Katrina took down half of New Orleans, Robichaux suffered great damage. The students at that time had to be relocated. We only recently finished rebuilding. The council decided to allow male students to attend the reopened school, and also changed quite a bit of the curriculum."

Tyron could only stare at her as he processed the new information.

The headmistress gave a wry smile. "I find it ironic that we could hold our own against countless murderers and psychopaths, but crumbled under the wrath of nature. It's an important lesson, I think, to be reminded of our place."

Tyron shifted uneasily. The whole situation had an air of foreboding about it.

"Rest assured, you will be perfectly safe for the duration of your stay here." Cordelia took a sip of something from a cup that Tyron only now noticed was there.

"It may feel a little strange at first," she said, "but it's good to be amongst your own kind."

She set her tea down and stood.

"I'll let you get settled in," she said, heading for the door.

She opened it, and Tyron could see the butler- Spalding, the headmistress had informed him- waiting in the hallway.

He followed Spalding up the stairs and through yet another set of corridors. They reached what he assumed to be the door of his own room and entered.

The room followed the same monochromatic colour scheme as the rest of the house. It was rather large, and had been divided into two distinct sides. Both held a four poster bed with a nightstand, a wardrobe and a desk, all made of the same dark wood as in Cordelia's office. The left side of the room was littered with magazines and various other things, and had a lived-in feel about it; in stark contrast with what he had already seen of the house.

Spalding placed his suitcase next to the bed on the empty right side of the room and promptly left.

Tyron could feel the tiny bit of comfort that Cordelia's kind words had supplied begin to fade away as he unpacked his suitcase.

He had already unpacked most of his things when stampeding feet crashed down the hallway. Suddenly, a frantic-looking boy banged through the door, clad in a flannel shirt with mousy brown hair in wild disarray.

"Hide me!"

Tyron only stared, gobsmacked, as the boy raced around the room, muttering to himself as he went.

Another set of footsteps could be heard from the other side of the door and the strange boy jumped head first into the wardrobe, slamming the door behind him.

The door opened and a delicate, hawkish blonde girl entered, followed by a black-haired girl whose bangs nearly obscured her overly-large eyes.

The blonde studied the owl-like girl, who was busy staring off into the middle distance. Neither of them moved for a long, long moment.

The owl girl snapped out of her trance and pointed to the cupboard like a proud hound who had successfully located a scent.

The blonde gestured lazily at the cupboard and the doors swung open, rusty hinges creaking loudly. Tyron felt a wave of envy at her casual use of magic. It had to be magic, since they were all witches, right?

The boy was crammed into the wardrobe, his legs up near his head and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Gotcha!" said the blonde girl, and it was if someone had flipped a switch in her brain. Gone was the fierce, hawk-like witch who had come barging into the room, and in her place stood a girl who could only be likened to a toddler in a candy store.

"Every damn time…" mumbled the boy as he tried to untangle his twisted limbs. "Next time, Nina's on my team," he said, pointing at the dark haired girl.

"It really isn't my fault that you have no strategic ability whatsoever." The blonde replied in a playfully condescending tone.

The girl cast her eyes to Tyron. "Who's this, then?" she asked, green eyes gleaming with curiosity. Tyron was getting whiplash from her mood swings.

"No idea. Must be the new kid." said the boy, stretching as he climbed out of the wardrobe.

"His name is Tyron Blacc," said the owl girl. Nina seemed to stare right through him.

Tyron had had a long day and he was in no mood for some random psychic chick, but decided to refrain from making enemies within the first hour of entering this freak show.

"Excuse her," said the blonde, seemingly noticing his annoyance, "She does that sometimes. My name is Jessica; nice to meet you." She extended her hand and Tyron shook it. She seemed nice enough, if a little too peppy.

"I'm Adam," said the boy. He was now busy picking up stray pieces of clothing that littered the floor.

"Tyron," he said simply.

Adam smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about the mess. So what are you in for?"

"Setting curtains on fire." Nina supplied.

This girl's shtick was getting old pretty quickly.

"Cool." Adam said. He didn't actually sound all that impressed, and he never stopped picking up the left side of the room.

Tyron was about to ask if anyone else could do something similar when a bell rang.

"Oh, dinner's ready!" Jessica exclaimed. "We´d better go downstairs."

Tyron followed the trio down to the dining room. They took their seats, Adam gesturing for Tyron to take the seat beside his.

He had barely taken his seat when two boys walked into the room, chattering animatedly with each other.

One of the boys was extremely pudgy, with a dark complexion and a bespectacled face. He was wearing a garish red scarf and his arms were covered in bracelets.

The other boy was even darker than the first, though not nearly as large. He carried himself with a strange confidence and was gesturing wildly to his companion. They took the seats in front of Jessica and Nina.

"What are you two arguing about now?" asked Jessica. From her tone, Tyron thought their quarrelling wasn't uncommon.

"I am trying," said the smaller one, "to convince Bradley that a scarf does not go with absolutely every article of clothing in his closet. …Pun intended," he added as an afterthought.

Jessica just blinked. "And how's that working out for you?" she asked, dusting lint off of her sleeve.

"It's futile," said the boy.

"There is nothing wrong with my fashion sense!" said Bradley, working up some righteous indignation.

"Keep telling yourself that," the other boy said sweetly.

Bradley opened his mouth to retort when another girl walked into the dining room. She had a dark mane of luscious, curly hair and carried herself with the air of someone who had much better things to do.

Tyron would have appreciated her attitude if he wasn't so annoyed at not being acknowledged by any of the newcomers.

"I see the queens are still going at it." said the girl as she took her seat, adjusting a knife so that it lined up perfectly with the spoon.

"Fuck you, Brooke," the smaller boy snarled.

"Not even if you paid me, Seany-boy," Brooke retorted. She was smiling, but she was staring him down. There was obviously no love lost here, and the tension was so thick even Tyron could feel it.

Jessica threw her spoon to the ground, drawing everyone's attention as the metal clanged.

Tyron's stomach grumbled at the delicious smell of food that was wafting from somewhere inside the house. He wondered when they would be served. It had been ages since he'd eaten.

Before anyone could make a remark, yet another boy came into the dining room. This one had handsome features and ruffled, dirty blond hair. He walked to his seat with an obvious spring in his step and sat down, genuinely smiling all the way. He reminded Tyron of an exuberant puppy.

"Hi! I'm Connor," he said. He looked at Tyron like they were old friends unexpectedly met.

All the heads in the room turned at once. _Now_ they noticed him.

"Um, hi. I'm Tyron. I'm new here..."

Awkward introductions seemed to be the theme of the day.


End file.
